I tried to loosen up as best I could while you mounted me. Your thrusts were slow at first, long tugs that had me moaning as you were leaving and crying out as you returned. You stabbed at my sensitive prostate, then rolled your hips so that you could properly massage it, sparking me up. Your balls hung loose and knocked against my backside, while my own testicles were drawn up tight and holding on for dear life. You drizzled more oil down my crack, working it inside me—up and down and side to side, swiping some over my cock and balls to lube them up as well, but leaving them cold just as quickly. There was no use in resisting. I’d let you fuck me until I bled if that’s what you wanted.
“That’s it,” you said lovingly and caressed my thigh as if sensing my surrender.
Your rhythm picked up and you reduced me to a shaking, shuddering mess. My dick was bitter at me for not touching it, and I was bitter at you for not letting me. Just when I thought you were done being forceful, you grabbed my hair and bent me backwards like a doll, so that my chin lifted, and my spine curved in a C. Your large hand pressed down against my tailbone, holding me steady while you surged into me.
“Ah, ah, ah,” I grunted. So much heat and pressure. So much warmth and sensation. The fire in my bones was spreading.
“Such a nimble young man. So smooth and pliant. Tell me who owns this body, Orlando.” You ground out my name.
I whined as you plowed into me again. The pain had burned away, and I felt only heat and friction and toe-pointing pleasure. Your skin slid against mine and your hands guided my movements. The scent of your sweat and sex overpowered my nostrils while the timbre of your voice told me there was only one acceptable answer. Like apas de deux, I had to relinquish control and trust you wouldn’t let me fall.
“You own it,” I said breathlessly.
“Tell me what I can do with this body,” you demanded and rolled your hips to persuade me.
Tears sprouted in my eyes. My dick was so sensitive even the soft bedding against my crown felt like sandpaper. What were you doing to me that turned pain into pleasure and pleasure into pain?
“Anything you want,” I said in a ragged, shaky voice.
Still holding onto my hair and piloting me from within, you forced my knees farther apart, making my thighs shudder and my balls ache. You reached around and grabbed my dick but didn’t stroke it, only held it firmly in your iron fist.
“Please make me come, Henri,” I begged. I needed it so bad.
“I’m going to empty my seed inside you.” You were up on one foot now, with your knee spread at a right angle, driving up from underneath me, using the weight of my body to help you go deeper. There was no struggle from me. Like an axe to wood, your thrusting cock split me open and made every nerve in my body sing.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I said in time with your rolling hips. My heart was in my throat and my vision was black around the edges.
“When you feel my release inside of you, then you can come.”
I groaned, already losing control. Like a train going off the tracks, I couldn’t stop it from happening. Your fists clenched both my shaft and my hair at the same time.
“Not yet,” you said, and my dick obeyed.
Then you plunged so deep that you lifted me off the bed. Your dick spasmed and gushed inside of me. Your hand wrenched my cock adding a little twist of your thumb at the end just the way I liked it, and before you were able to complete the third stroke, my dick exploded in your hand. I was suspended as though caught in a leap. Gravity delivered me to your arms as my orgasm rocketed through me. My semen sprayed all over the bed. Your teeth sank into the meaty part of my shoulder but didn’t pierce my skin.
“You can,” I ground out with my last scraps of breath.
“Not this time.”
You held me in your arms until my breath returned, and my muscles and limbs regained control of themselves, though they felt utterly useless. Like I’d been pounded by the waves, then carried to shore and caressed by the shallow water. You laid me down on the bed, pausing to cover me completely with your body. Then you slowly extracted yourself from my throbbing ass.
“Don’t go,” I begged and reached back to clutch you to me. You pressed yourself firmly against me, but I wanted you back inside. I wanted us as one body and one soul, knotted up so tightly we could never be untangled.
We lay there for a few minutes and just breathed. I wanted to acknowledge what we’d shared, but I was never good at the sappy stuff.
“So that’s how you make love where you’re from?” I asked. I grabbed your arm and positioned it across my chest, placing your open palm under my balls to cup them, so that I could still feel you down there. I wanted my most sensitive bits in your hands.
You chuckled. “That is howImake love. With regard to my countrymen, I am probably better than average, as I’ve had some time to improve upon my technique.” You kissed my neck and said gruffly, “Was it pleasing to you?”
I licked my lips. They were swollen and bruised from biting down on them.
“Extremely pleasing and only a little bit… uncomfortable.”
“I hope it was more than uncomfortable,” you said. “I hope it was a sensation you’ll never forget. Even after tomorrow, when the soreness wears off, I want you to always remember who made you feel this way. I put you on your hands and knees and made you beg for that agony.”
“I don’t know if I’d call it begging,” I said with a smile.
“You begged,” you assured me.
